The smallness of his room made selection necessary when the number of candidates for instruction became unusually large. In this case he always chose the worst and most desperate cases, preferring to take in hand “the little blackguards,” as he termed them, and turn them into decent members of society. At other times, “he has been seen to follow such to the town-quay, and hold out in his hand to them the bribe of a roasted potato to induce them to come to school.”[56] On fine warm days the school “ran over” into the street, the children who behaved best being allowed to sit near the door, or on a bench outside.
His method of teaching was of the simplest and most graphic character, and seemed, although John Pounds, of course, knew nothing of such things, to combine the features of the Pestalozzian and Kindergarten systems. He would point to the different parts of the body, get the pupil to tell their names, and then to spell them. Taking a child’s hand, he would say, “What is this? Spell it.” Then slapping it he would say, “What did I do? Spell that.”
With the older pupils he went as far as his knowledge would allow of, teaching them to read by means of handbills, or making use of such old school-books as he had been able to beg, or buy cheap. Slate and pencils only were used for teaching writing, “yet a creditable degree of skill was acquired, and in ciphering, the Rule of Three and Practice were performed with accuracy.”
Pounds made efforts to clothe and feed as well as educate his destitute pupils, many of whom were in a deplorable condition of rags and dirt. He was anxious to take them with him on Sundays to the meeting-house which he attended, and would have them decently clad and properly washed. “In one corner of his room was a bag full of all sorts of garments for girls and boys, which he had begged and mended, to be worn by his scholars on Sundays, and when they went with him to the house of God. The garments took the place of worse ones; for John took pride in the decent, clean appearance of his pupils. Imagine him on a Sunday morning, with his children round him, and his big bag open, and his handing the garments round, with the soul of kindness in his eyes and the joy of God in his heart!”[57] He might often have been seen on Saturday nights going round to the bakehouses to buy bread for his poor children to eat on Sundays, gathering it into his huge leathern apron, and, when his money was all spent, standing still with a troubled look, searching in all his pockets for a few more coppers in order to secure yet one more loaf to add to his store.
When he was in need of books for his pupils, he did not hesitate to go to the houses of well-to-do citizens and explain his case, and ask them for aid. For the most part, he met with much kindness and sympathy, for many of the inhabitants of Portsmouth and the neighboring towns knew the benevolent cobbler of St. Mary’s Street. But now and then he met with rebuffs from those who did not know him, or from churlish souls who could not feel for the sufferings of the poor. If he alone had suffered from these rebuffs, the brave and sensible old man would have borne them calmly enough; but a word spoken against his helpless little scholars was enough at any time to rouse his warmest feelings. Once he called on a gentleman of considerable means to ask the favor of a few old disused books for the use of the pupils in reading. “Let them buy books!” was the only response he got to his generous appeal. “Poor little beggars!” he exclaimed; “they can scarcely get bread, let alone books,” and turned away with ill-concealed disgust from the gentleman’s presence.
Pounds taught his pupils many other things besides “the three R’s.” Many of the boys received instruction in the useful arts of shoe-mending and tailoring, so that when they grew up they found their little knowledge of great practical utility. He even went so far as to teach the lads and lasses how to cook their plain food, and make the best of everything. In fact, nothing that children required to make them happy and comfortable, and to fit them for the duties of after-years, did the good cobbler overlook or neglect. He made their playthings—bats, balls, crossbows, shuttlecocks, kites, what-not; went out with them on holiday and festive gatherings; got them gifts of tea and cake, and had them assembled in a neighboring schoolroom for public examination; saw that they were included at the public dinners, such as the celebration of Her Majesty’s coronation in 1837; and from year to year had the satisfaction of seeing them grow up and take honorable and useful positions in society. This, in fact, was his reward—all he looked for, all he ever had, except the approval of Him who said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto Me.”
It was no uncommon thing during the last years of John Pounds’ life for some fine, manly fellow, soldier or sailor on furlough, or workman passing through the town, to turn in at the old room, where the good cobbler was still going on with his good work, in order to shake hands with him, and thank him, while the big tears stood in the eyes of both master and pupil, as the latter spoke of his rescue from starvation, poverty, or crime, and of the fair start in life which he had received at the hands of the worthy cobbler. And to this day there are men and women by the score, in respectable and comfortable positions, who can tell the same tale. “During the seven years I have been minister here,” writes the pastor of the chapel in the graveyard of which John Pounds was buried, “I have seen paying a pilgrimage to his tomb a number of those who were taught by him, and who, passing through the town, or coming for a short time to Portsmouth (as they belonged to the army or navy), thus showed their grateful feeling toward their venerated teacher and friend. They have told me in touching language, and almost sobbing the while, of the debt of gratitude they owed him.”
The useful life of this philanthropist came to an end on New Year’s Day, 1839. A few days previously he went to the house of his friend Edward Carter, Esq., who then lived in High Street, Portsmouth, to acknowledge certain acts of kindness done in behalf of his little scholars. While there, he saw the painting referred to at the beginning of this sketch, which that gentleman had purchased of Mr. Sheaf, the shoemaker-artist. The simple-minded man, whose love for dumb animals and domestic pets was one of the most amiable features in his character, seemed to be more pleased by finding his favorite cat included in the picture than by any other part of the painting. He then showed Mr. Carter the writing and ciphering lessons of one of the pupils, and asked for aid in procuring copy-books. A day or two after this John Pounds again called on his friend, and while conversing with him on matters connected with the school, fell down as if fainting. Medical aid was called in, but John Pounds was dead before the doctor arrived. The body was conveyed to the little room in St. Mary’s Street, where about thirty children were waiting for their teacher to come and commence the day’s work, and “wondering what had become of him.” Terror and grief seized upon the minds of the children when they saw the lifeless body of their kind teacher borne into the room and laid upon the bed. On the following day a group of children might have been seen standing at the door weeping because they could not be admitted. Day after day “the younger ones came, looked about the room, and not finding their friend, went away disconsolate.”
Mr. Martell, the physician who had been called in when Pounds was dying, asked the favor of being allowed to pay the expenses of the funeral. John Pounds was buried in the graveyard of the chapel in High Street where he had been a constant worshipper. A large number of people gathered round the grave, among whom the most conspicuous and sincere mourners were the children now bereaved of their teacher and best earthly friend.
A tablet was placed on the wall of the High Street Chapel bearing the following inscription: